


Reminders

by Unimpairable



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake AH Crew, Grounding, M/M, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unimpairable/pseuds/Unimpairable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray is what most would call a serial killer. He's been taking lives with his sniper rifle for years. Most would think it never bothers him but some people cope with their job more differently than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> (I wrote light smut at 3AM because working on things you're supposed to be working on doesn't always work out. )

Ray took pride in a lot of what he did. His crew was all notorious for their specialties and he was just the same. Geoff was the leader, the game master who put them into unique situations that most crews would never think to even try. Jack the second-in-command, commended for her amazing menagerie of aircraft knowledge and her mothering instincts on the battlefield. Michael, the demolitian expert, always holding an explosive in his hand and seeming to count off the seconds he knew by heart before he'd throw it into oncoming traffic. Gavin, the brains, seemingly stupid on the outside but a brilliant if not bumbling genius underneath. Ryan, the god of death, someone who could take out hundreds of people in one go and torture in the most violent of ways. Jeremy, the new kid, a wild card that no one was sure about but with the name of Fake AH crew tacked on, he was feared. Kerry, the tier of loose ends, even with his bad luck he had the amazing know how of cleaning up crime scenes and leaving no trace.

The Hispanic however was known for one thing, something that no other crew in Los Santos could truly master. He was the king of sniping. He could put any war veteran to shame and he knew the city by heart. Every nook and cranny that could hold him while he positioned his pink rifle was at his command. He loved the thrill of it, the cool material that touched his skin and the heart racing moment of pulling back that trigger. The kick back sent shivers through his spine and the resounding whistle of the bullet was music to his ears. Every time he made contact, he felt his breath hitch and his entire body tingle with perverse joy. He got high off the killings he made. 

No one in his crew quite understood him. They would see him after a heist and notice his disheveled state. Some made jokes about how he quickly got laid after each bullet fired and others cracked about how he was in a relationship with his sniper rifle. He didn't care normally because his brain was focused elsewhere. It was true, Geoff normally let him get home on his own after busts due to the fact that he always needed a personal moment to himself. One time caught with his pants down by the leader, he was ordered to never be bothered again during that time. He couldn't help it and he was thankful his boss understood the needs of a young man even if he didn't understand where they came from. Ryan however, Ryan seemed to get him and would often talk to him about the sensations he felt. They both agreed that there was something enticing about having the power to end lives. Something that made both of them long for other human interaction. 

Ray wasn't much for cuddling other people however and chose instead to spend his moments in the afterglow alone. He could often run fingers through his short hair, across his chest and under his shirt, hand drifting inside his pants to stroke himself properly. He'd keep going until he'd fill his shorts with that warm sticky liquid and moaned himself into a puddle on the rooftop he was hiding on. He had been caught only three times, the first by Geoff and subsequently the easiest to endure. The second and third time had been by cops, his own carelessness as he let himself be noisey and give in without second thought. He'd be hauled away by gloved hands and get washed down with sterilizing chemicals before being thrown in an interrogation room. He was too often stuck in his euphoric daze however and they'd wind up questioning if he was mentally stable. He always escaped, always had his crew protecting him...so he just let himself go...ride the moment for all it was worth. 

It may have been an addiction, something he couldn't escape. Something he needed to do...which is why today of all day's, he was in hell. It had started off normal enough with the crew showing up to a bank just on the edge of town. Easy robbery, easy shots, nothing the sniper couldn't handle. He took out six cops before Geoff called over his earpiece that they were home free and that's when the young man let himself roll back onto the roof and snuggle himself into his hiding spot. He breathed a happy sigh, pulling off his technology so he didn't bother the rest of the crew and his hands began to roam. 

First, to his face...touching the soft skin as he rubbed his tense cheeks and touched his own lips. Thinking to himself about how tender they felt, clear that he had been biting them while focusing and now as he ran his index finger across them he could further tease the lingering pain. His neck was next the thing to be given attention, with his hands briefly closing around them and holding himself back against the generator he was leaned against. He felt the sensation of losing his breath gradually and it just made his head tilt back with a loud moan that threatened to escape. He released himself when he felt the numbness setting in and those fingers trailed down his neck into his shirt collar, tugging at the fabric to let the cool air wash over his sweat lined skin. He let his hands roam across the covered chest, running over his nipples that just wanted to push into the touch. Downward, to his lap, rubbing his hips and the muscles that led to his groin. Just as he was finally about to tease that erection-something caught his ears.

The whirring of chopper blades, the sounds of screaming and he was quickly leaping up from his hiding place with worry. Closing in fast was the image of his crew, the helicopter being flown by Jack and Ryan hanging just outside the bay door on the left side. Panic flooded through his veins as he saw the serial killer leap onto the roof when they got close, race over to him and before he could ask questions, he was being hauled onto the muscled shoulders and flung into the machine as it hovered nearby. He was greeted with the tight grip of his best friend Michael, pulling him into a seat and strapping him in as Ryan climbed back up into the hold with his rifle. He tried to scream, demand to know what was going on but they were zooming off with the sound of approaching gunfire. 

It didn't take long to realize that a rival crew had tried to bust their heist and take them out. Fearing for his safety, Geoff had ordered a rescue mission for Ray before the rival crew got too close. The sniper was thankful for the most part, knowing he was a sitting duck on that roof if he didn't know about the incident...but now he was left with his burning desires to fester. They didn't disappear when he was in front of his friends and the adrenaline was adding fuel to the fire. He was sweating profusely, fidgetting in his seat, wanting to touch himself so badly as the flight ran a little too long. He felt himself pressing into the seat belt and whining inaudible with the machine roaring around them. He needed relief, he demanded it really. He wanted to finish his routine at all costs and it was driving him to the point of madness. His expression must have carried this emotion as he felt the reassuring hand of Geoff on his back, rubbing the muscles in an attempt to soothe his anxiety. 

When they landed safely and were piling out to the safe house, the Hispanic couldn't move. He was rooted in the spot with the sharp pain of over sensitized nerves and every part of him tightening with his heavy breathing. He was going to pass out if he didn't start the recovery process. Concerned gazes passed through the other crew members and Ray could only whimper loudly when someone finally went to unbuckle him. He was pulled up out of his seat and into waiting arms, finding himself practically bursting into tears at the contact. He pressed into it, hands gripping into the hair of whoever was holding him and body spasming gently when they just rubbed his back through it. Someone removed his glasses, cleaning them and others were giving him calming insistence that he was going to be fine. 

Part of his mind agreed with them but the other part was screaming about how he needed the release or life as he knew it would crumble. He was delving into a state of mind that could almost be labeled OCD. He needed his routine to be perfect, to be executed without flaw or everything around him was worthless. His heart was racing, his hands barely holding enough strength now as he held the person carrying him. His breathing was growing more shallow by the second and one point he knew for certain he had fainted.

When the world stopped spinning, he found himself laying across his back on his bed and a warm blanket tossed over him. He felt hands on his shoulders again, rubbing and voices washing over him in comfort. 

"...Ray, you any better?" 

Such a simple question he should've been able to answer. Said he was alright and nod-do something! His jaw felt locked up however and his chest still painfully heavy, he couldn't do anything but grip tightly to the blanket on him, tears welling into his eyes. He couldn't take it anymore, he felt like he was going insane. He screamed in agony and felt more hands rushing to try and help him get control. He felt trapped, unable to do anything and he just let the tears roll down his face. It took several minutes of unnecessary touching and voices praising him until he heard the room evacuated. 

He blinked his bloodshot, tear filled eyes to look around and found only the blurred face of Ryan staring back at him. He choked on a sob, rolling back against the pillows, reaching to pull his beanie off and run fingers through his hair. Ryan was just watching him for a long hard minute before those calloused hands of his were moving to help the Hispanic remove the coverings. First the blanket, then his jacket and shirt-the cool air making his lungs contract and his body arch. He moaned softly at being exposed, wanting nothing more than to continue where he left off. He was whining with every movement, twisting and writhing as that chill washed over each new part of him that was stripped. By the time he was naked against the sheets, he was practically vibrating.

He reached down, fingers searching for his erect cock he knew was no doubt flushed and twitching. He had trouble with his motor skills, unable to look down at himself and he let loose the most needy sound yet. He was answered with another hand on his member, beginning a slow stroke from base to tip. Running over the head and slit and then back down, teasing the balls with the side of his palm. Ray was yelling, without realizing it, he was begging so loudly for that hand to continue. He bucked up against it, his own hand gripping tightly at the wrist that held it and nails digging in. He was pushing back against the pillows-trying to force himself to calm down otherwise. His wish was granted and he moaned sharply as the stroking came faster and more focused. Eyes rolled into his head, his toes curled as his whole body was trying to meet every touch. 

It didn't take long for his orgasm to hit, hard and fast, spilling out from his cock and onto his chest, stomach, and that hand around him. He nearly screamed along with it, panting and sobbing as he was stroked through the last of it, as the hand slid away and two now rubbed his hips in a calming manner. As he was massaged into the afterglow of pleasure that washed through him. As his mind surrendered to the feeling and his body let exhaustion take hold, the young man could only occasionally whimper through his tears. He was shushed gently, the clean hand rubbing off some of the liquid on his cheek and he responded to the calm voice with the feeble little statement running through his thoughts, a reminder that he needed every time he took down the world with his gun. Every time he took a life and got praised over his earpiece, praised for being a murderer. Praised for taking out fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters...praised for doing what he loved...

"...I'm human."


End file.
